Bobblehead Mk II
by WeLonelyOldSouls
Summary: Vault 101 had a failure test. It wan't just an isolation test. No, that would be too simple. It had more. Sadly, that 'more' resulted in a terrible turn of events. Experiment: Sabotaged Reactor and Water Supply, Indefinite Isolation, Low Sanitation Quotient. Results: Pending...
1. Mother Darkness

It was bright, and cold. It wasn't always bright, but you could always see where you were. The lights never completely shut down. That was, until the brownouts. Complete, sudden, darkness. Everything stopped. The air no longer moved past, the lights went out. The distant hum of the reactor, the tremble in the floor from the massive turbines, it all stopped. The first event lasted all of thirteen seconds. Those were the longest thirteen seconds of most of our lives. Those thirteen seconds killed Old lady Palmer. The lights went out, and she started gasping. None of us knew what was happening. Despite being the medic's kid, I didn't know what was happening. She was alive before the darkness came, she wasn't after. Father told me it was a heart attack; that the shock from something she had lived her whole life with suddenly ceasing to exist was too much for her. In the chaos, Beatrice went hysterical about the apocalypse and was shot. I wasn't actually supposed to know this, but I saw her body when I visited my dad, it was hard to miss the hole in her head. The Overseer stepped in and restored balance, while Stanley and Andy looked for the problem. We thought it was over.

We were wrong. The next brownout was recorded by the sensors, but nobody noticed. It was longer, a whopping minute 34 seconds, during the dead of night, after my tenth birthday. I slept soundly, dreaming of being declared queen Radroach slayer. I didn't notice. Nobody noticed this one. The one after; we were all aware of.

The third event was the first real disaster. First, the lights go dark. We hear a subtle, whoosh, whoosh, like water sloshing in a bucket. Then, there's water everywhere. It's pressing against you, pushing at your feet. It racing past, getting higher and higher. You can barely stand when it starts, when it reaches your waist, it pulls you under. You're struggling under, the current dragging you along. Things are floating in the current with you, computers, appears, pencils, cups, all sorts of debris. You can't reach the surface, can't breathe. Lungs are burning; you are frantic, pulling at the stuff, trying desperately to reach the surface. Suddenly, a hand grabs yours and pulls you out. You're gasping, but you see something strange, the lights are still out, but there flashing coming from down the corridor. The hall leads to a door that you've never seen open. You're disciplined to even go down the hall. Through the door, you see a grim overseer with his hand on a panel. The flashing comes from a giant steel cog, that's halted part of the way into opening. It's the vault door! The water is running out, past the door. Your dad is checking your vitals, but all you can see is the overseer, looking grimly at the stream rushing down the steps. As the flow weakens, Stanley and Andy volunteer to check and see what failed. Everyone is gathered on the upper atrium walkways, since the main levels are still partially flooded.

Hours later, Andy returns. His diagnostic scans show that a major water main had cracked and burst, slowly overflowing the lower levels. The sealed doors had held it back for quite some time, but they weren't enough. He showed footage of the dive down, the doors were embedded in the wall. Stanley had climbed into the burst pipe to see if he could reroute the flow, try to stop the flood before it cycled again from the purification system, but he was seconds too slow. He had just hit the switch, just connected the pipes when the flow started. Hundreds, thousands of gallons of water had rushed through. Andy had no choice but to enact the switch. The last image of Stanley was his hand holding onto the pipe edge, the torrent yanking him down. We never found his body. Some of the younger kids say the lower levels are haunted now, and that you can find puddles in the corridors sometimes. Amata tried to shush them when she hears. Even though, I can tell she's shocked. That kind of trauma, the hopelessness of a person versus a flood, it had her on edge. Hell, we were all on edge after that. Mrs. Deloria went for drinks every day, and the bartender couldn't turn her down, not even after her rations ran out.

It stayed lit for a while after that. We thought that the water pipe had been the source. We thought we were safe. Now, it feels like whoever was in control was just lulling us into false security. The fourth brownout came slower than the others. First, the drafts eased off. Next, the lights dimmed, flickered, and died, row by row. Finally, the steady hum, the vibration of the generators ground to a halt. Full, complete, blackout. We were all quiet for Mr. Brotch that class. Luckily, we were discussing flammability and flammable substances. He used more than he was supposed to, but we all appreciated the flickering candle light. His soft words kept us calm. He taught for four straight hours, until those lights flickered back on, and the air flow blew out all of those candles. Nobody went up and thanked him. We all kind of staggered out of the classroom, numbly finding our ways home or whispering with our friends. Amata gave me a look that told me she had to find her father, to ask what was going on. I knew better. My feet walked me to the reactor room, the crude sign, wrinkled and waterlogged, proudly proclaiming it the improvised range. Jonas wasn't inside, and neither was dad, which meant I wasn't allowed to be there. I ignored the rules however. Instead, when I saw one of those nasty bugs skittering around, I hit the cycler on my experiment.

Honestly, I was lucky that Jonas or Dad never looked too close at what I was doing. I was equally lucky I was based in the reactor room, where the electricity usage isn't measured. Or at least, spikes in the usage aren't noticed. No the amount I was using. My contraption was surprisingly simple for what it did. Using focusing arrays, a few electromagnets, and photo conductive paint, I built a home laser. It wasn't effective, wasn't practical, and by god wasn't safe. I had had trouble getting the arrays all lined up, the fields just right. Somehow, that day my mind just clicked. Suddenly, all the math made sense, all the calculations added up. I tweaked my machine, and flipped open the relay. Immediately, faster than I could see, the bug lit on fire. More than that, it incinerated. A thin beam trailed form my relays to the back of its carapace, and it melted. I was ecstatic. Then, I smelled disaster. To my shock, the floor too was on fire. The steel plates were boiling near the focus of the beam, and smoke was curling up from the intersection. I closed the switch on my device and let out a quiet _'Damn.'_ My machine worked. It worked a bit too well.

Then arms were around my shoulders. Jonas spun me around and started chiding me, telling me about how he and dad had been searching all over for me when I didn't run home. He noticed the disruption in the floor, but failed to connect it to my machine. He led me back to dad, who launched into another lecture. A few technicians checked out the floor, but since it wasn't near any of the conduits, they wrote it off as 'thermal bleeding from reactor malfunction.' Since the cause of that brownout was never discovered, I suppose my machine's damage was filed as the official reasoning, despite the evidence otherwise. That probably confused the hell out of whoever read the reports when they took over after the lead was made charcoal- I mean,' retired.'

The day had arrived. It was time. It was earlier than it should have been. **Due to the recent degeneration of the vault facilities, and the mysterious lack of identifiable cause as to the blackouts, the GOAT testing has been moved up a year, due to popular vote.** In overseer speak, it meant that since something is destroying our vault, we are making you productive members sooner, hoping you will either stop the descent, or accelerate it to where we all die quickly in an explosion. This has been done by popular vote, mine.

 **On another note, the disasters that have been occurring have also lead to the temporary phase out of most educational and civic occupations. After the crisis has been identified and fixed, you will be free to return to your chosen occupation.** Also, were making you all science and maintenance people, because that's where the problem is. I don't care if you failed algebra, much less calculus Freddie, I'm putting you in charge of the reactor. Idiot.

So, by decree of the lord and master of the vault, at the ripe age of fifteen, I am subjected to the classic GOATitis, a disease caused by fear of a changing future, particularly associated with aptitude tests that determine who you are going to be and what you will do until the day you die, or start a revolution. Somehow, my father doesn't believe my prognosis, and demands a second opinion. He finds nothing wrong with me, of course, and thus sends me on my way. Jonas comments on how much I'm like my old man, and how I have nothing to worry about with how often I'm experimenting and helping in the clinic. I thank him, but insist I am still sick with GOATitis. He chuckles at my pain, gently pushing my towards the door. I grumble at him, but smile as I leave. I do like Jonas after all. He's like an Uncle to me. A slightly crazy, and majorly obsessed with explosives one.

I climb the stairwell to the classroom slowly, making sure very step is firm. Truthfully, I'm stalling, by way of excessive safety. Perhaps I should do a gravity check, make sure that it's still working. I'm tempted, but rationalize that my dad will only make me take the stupid test broken limb or not. Instead, I hear something much more important; a muffled scuffle. Deciding that almost anything is better than the test; I walk past the door quickly, dodging Mr. Broth's sight. Down the corridor and around the corner, I arrive at a maintenance closet. The sounds are coming from within. I test the door- locked of course. Grumbling, I pull a bobby pin out of my hair, letting the strands fall down. I blow a clump out of my eyes as I twist the pin in the slot, listening for the click. The combatants on the other side of the door don't make it easy, but eventually I hear it click and get the damn door open. I tuck my hair back up with the slightly mangled pin, turning back to face the closet.

At first glance, I feel I should pull the door back closed and relock it. Butch and Paul both have their pants undone, and are looking at me dumbly. I almost pull the door closed when I see something much more important. There's a third occupant to this closet. Well, fourth since I'm in it, but semantics. Amata lies on the ground, hands bound to a pipe emerging from the wall, jumpsuit torn and ripped. The zipper is jammed part of the way down, and torn for a few more inches. Her belt is undone, but the pants are intact for now. My body suddenly goes cold. I knew that the tunnel snakes were trouble, but I had underestimated them. Amata looks scared on the ground, eyes wide with terror. She got a few slashes in the arms of her jumpsuit, and one such slice on her face. Butch is frozen for a moment. He grips his switchblade in his hand, his other hooked into the band of his tighty-whiteys. Paul looks almost as scared as Amata, but he too is half undressed.

"Boys, if you wanted an audience to watch you screw each other so badly, all you had to do was ask. I would be glad to do research on my theory that prolonged immersal in a stagnant population leads to reductions in physical endowment." I say, opening the door back up.

Paul gives a confused "Uh?", while Butch raises his switchblade.

"Bitch, I don't know what you said, but beat it and we won't do the same to you. We're the tunnel snakes, nobody messes with us." He postures, waving his blade.

"You misunderstand," I say, "I'm telling you that you can do the deed as much as you want with each other, but leave Amata out of this."

"You- What- No! We're- I'm not-" Paul's brain finally comprehends what I've been saying, but he doesn't seem to know how to react.

"This is your last warning, you dumb slut, get out or I'll take her and Paul can have you. Ooh, I bet you scream." Butch's piggy pupils dilate in my pipboy light.

"Leave Amata alone, or else." I growl, stepping forward.

"Or else? I believe that's my line, dumbass." Butch says.

"Or else, when your mother comes in for alcohol poisoning, again, I'll replace her treatment line with vodka. Poor overdose she had. We did our best, but she didn't make it." I say sweetly. Butch visibly bristles.

"Get her!" He shouts. Paul lunges forwards. Quickly I leap back, out of his reach. He tries to tackle me again, but I slam the door on his face. Something crunches. I reopen the door to see that his nose is looked flatter, and worse, his fingers are protruding from the skin. He looks pale, and is shaking _. 'Disgusting'_

"You'd better run for the clinic before those get infected." I advise. He sprints past me, forgetting that he's still half dressed. He trips and slides into the open classroom doorway.

"Mr. Hannon!" Mr. Brotch shouts. I smirk at Butch.

"What now? Your game's over. You're alone, in the dark, with me. Mr. Brotch is alerted, and worse, you've gotten the head of security injured. Plus, you're going to be caught trying to rape the overseer's daughter. Tell me, do you think they'll kill you outright, or castrate you first? Not that it's much to lose…" Butch doesn't reply for a moment. I can see the consequences of his actions running through his head. Suddenly, he shakes it and laughs.

"You haven't won. No, I win. They'll find me in here with her, my switch buried in you. I'll tell them that you kidnapped her, that you tried to take her for your own. I've seen how you look at her, they'll believe me. You kidnapped her, when the brave Paul hears her struggles. He picks the lock you set and rushes in, you brutally attack him. I follow, and I fight you. Sadly, in the dark I mistake your neck for your arm. They find me, Amata's rescuer. You're dead, branded a rebel and dissident. I win." He reeks of overconfidence. Minus the slight reputation disadvantage, and the obvious assumption that he would actually kill me, it's actually not that bad of a plan. Almost too good for Butch. I scoff, and start to turn away. "As if, Deloria." As I predicted, he went for stabbing me in the back. My foot snapped up, the leg flew out, and the knee flexed. His knife went flying onto the corner, his thrust countered.

"Don't be a fool, Butch. You can't win." I say, returning my foot to the ground. This time he scoffs, quickly lunging and shoving something into my stomach.

"Snakes have two fangs, dumbass." He whispers in my ear, twisting the knife. I let out a bloodcurdling scream. Butch stumbles back, hands clutched over his ears. My eyes are tearing up; my side feels like it's on fire, and it ' _hurts-hurts-hurts_.' I start to pull it out, but remember that the worst thing you can do is pull a puncture out of the wound. I stumble to the door, holding onto the frame. I'm sobbing, the knife in my side hurts so much, it's like nothing I had encountered. Far worse than shooting yourself with a bb in the foot. Worse even than having a laser fry across your arm, melting your jumpsuit. I'm no stranger to pain, but it hurts. Butch recovers, climbing off of Amata. One look and I can tell he's serious about his plan. He fully intends to kill me here in this closet. Momentarily, I regret not walking into class today. The GOAT can't be as bad as this.

Butch is suddenly on me, hands clawing at the knife in my side, which I'm curled protectively around. I try to bat his prying fingers away but he's too strong. He grips the knife with one hand, the other reaching for my neck. I scream again as he twists the knife. He grimaces, but carries on. His hand finds my neck and suddenly it's quiet again. I can't breathe, I can't gasp, and the knife is pushing at my organs, the point slicing across my kidney. The pain is nearly overwhelming. The lights start to dim, but I don't think this is a blackout. At least, not one that affects anyone but me. I'm yanking at his hands, pulling at my throat. It's getting darker and darker. The room starts to shrink, the walls closing in. Suddenly, there's air. I'm, on the ground gasping for breath. The knife is still in me, but feels strangely dulled. Butch is getting off of the ground, dodging Amata's flailing feet. She must have kicked his ankle out from under him. He pushes past her weak kicks and punches her face. Her head collides with the wall with a sickening crack and she slumps over. He stands, looming over me.

"See what you made me do!" He yells, "Now I have to kill you!" He lunges at me, but I squirm away, he grasps at me but I pull an Amata and kick his hands away, he grabs my ankle and he's pulling me and I'm scrabbling for a handhold, a pipe, something to grab, my fingers close on something small and cold, and as he grabs my hip I twist and push and I'm screaming and he's screaming and there's lights and it all goes quiet, it all goes dark.

I wake up later, in the infirmary. Butch is on the cot next to me, a sheet over most of his body. His switchblade protrudes from just above his collar bone. He's pale- too pale. He isn't breathing. Jonas pulls the sheet up. On the other side is Paul. He looks confused. His nose is splinted, and his fingers are back in place, wrapped in gauze and a cast. Wally sits next to Paul, head in his hands. Their tunnel snake jackets are piled in the corner, next to a few bloody rags. My dad clears his throat. I try to look, but my side won't move. Jonas pushes something, and the cot inclines. I gasp and cough as it moves my side, but I settle down as it comes to a halt. Dad is resting on his operating stool next to my cot. His mask is pulled down, the white stained with crimson flecks. His apron is also red with blood. The tray next to him is clear of everything- meaning that they're soaking in bleach. Tonight was my night to clean the tools. It was my job. Obviously, I hadn't done it. He or Jonas had. My dad let out a shuddering breath.

"You have no clue how worried I was. I heard shouts, then Mr. Brotch came over the intercom, said that I needed to come to the classroom to treat an injury. I thought it was Freddie having a panic attack, or maybe, for a moment at least, believed that you were not wrong about GOATitis and that you were dying. I get up there, and Paul is unconscious by the door, half undressed. His nose is broken and hand shattered. I start to treat him, but Wally pushes me away- tells me that I need to start with Butch. I follow the stunned people to a closet, where security stands barring the doorway. The overseer himself is hugging Amata, wrapped in a blanket. She looks half used, but I press on. Security lets me in, and I see the scene for myself. Amata's hair tie is cut, part still knotted on the pipe. Butch lays where he fell, draped on a crate or two, his own blade embedded in his chest. I feel for a pulse, but there is none. He's dead. I start to leave, but my boot is sticky. I look down to see you on the floor. Your neck is bruised, and you've got a bloody knife sticking out of your gut. You have a pulse, and I rush you back to the infirmary, yelling for Jonas to apply pressure. Security tries to stop me, but I yell, "I've got to try and save one of them!" They let me pass. Jonas and I are down here, I'm frantically scrubbing up while he holds pressure. I pull the knife out, clamp the artery, look at the damage. You're very, very lucky it didn't do more. It punctured your skin and your kidney, but nothing else. I sewed up your kidney, then your side. You're still passed out. Jonas tells me to treat Mr. Hannon, so I turn to him. Jonas must have fixed the nose already; all that's left is his hands. Somehow my gloves are changed, and I start on Paul's fingers. Mid way through, he stares at the door. I look up; security is bringing in Butch's body. A nervous and tearful Wally follows; settling on a chair on Paul's other side. I finished tucking his fingers back into place and wrapping them with gauze. I warn him not to move and set to making the plaster for his gauze. I come back, and his and Wally's jackets are in the corner. I fix his fingers again, can't follow simple commands, and then apply the molding. I finish and he falls asleep, finally succumbing to the exhaustion. Wally doesn't look like trouble, looks too shocked to do anything. I leave him be. Best he has a calm environment to adjust in. You're still out. I settle in the chair, I wait. You nearly scared me to death, sweetheart. You nearly killed off the family name." he's exhausted, wasted on coffee and adrenaline. He grips my hand, holds it tight. "Promise me, you won't do that again. Promise me, that you'll be safe from here on out." The door slides open. Mr. Overseer walks himself walks in.

"Can I have a word?" He asks, looking not at my father, but at me. My father looks belligerent for a moment, but sighs and stands.

"You have three minutes before the medication kicks in and she's down again. Don't mess anything up."

The overseer takes the stool my dad vacated. We're both silent for a moment.

"Amata told me what happened. That was very brave, and very loyal of you. However, it raised cautions. You must realize, I cannot have any… complication to the vaults population growth." He starts.

Translation: You did well saving her, but you cannot date her. You must bear children for our survival. Regardless of your personal feelings.

"That's not a problem, Mr. Overseer. Different… feelings. Friends." I manage to wheeze out.

"That's a relief." He looks more at ease. It would be awkward, having to tell your daughter's rescuer that they now need to go their separate ways. Conflict of Personal and Business life. "You'll need to talk to her about this as well. She may not know that you're only friends. She expressed… concerns to me." There's silence again. "Your GOAT results came in." He says abruptly.

"Didn't take… test?" I wheeze questioningly.

"There were enough similarities in your conflict in that closet that we were able to replicate your response. Congratulations, Vault Security Engineer. You should enjoy the job." He pats your knee and stands up. You blink, but it's hard to keep looking. You blink again, but it's slower, much slower. You open your eye one more time…


	2. One Last Dance

It started out bright, but then my eyes adjusted. Coming from the reactor, where my experimenting tended to dim the lights, back to the main levels was jarring to say the least. I was thankful that I was allowed in the reactor to experiment, it was a gift from my father and Jonas two months ago, for my thirteenth. The rules with it were harsh, but I accepted them as necessary. The drafts were much stronger up here, as well at it being well, brighter. I started walking back towards my humble apartment in the underground prison that was our home, but I never quite made it there. Part of the way through, something caught my attention. It was a faint sound, a very distant and quiet lulling hum.

That was the best I had for it at first, a lulling hum. It didn't sound like much at first. Only when I drew closer, carefully creeping along the walls and tunnels, the sound growing stronger, the hum turning into a pulse, the lull increasing and decreasing in pitch. Only when I had traveled across the entire bloody level did I understand that it came from an air vent. It wasn't even on my level. After drudging up the stairs and searching all across the next level did I realize it wasn't there either.

No, the sound I valiantly pursued form B3 was on G1. And what a sound it was. It was different from the music that came from the jukebox, or that dad would hum sometimes when he was concentrating hard. It didn't sound like the lullabies I heard coming from the newborns section, near the med bay. It was different. It was high when the jukebox swung low, haunting when the lullabies comforted. It wasn't like those old war songs dad sang. It was, well, beautiful. Not that the others weren't a work of art in their own rights, barring father's off key screeching, but this was different. I crept closer, walking on empty halls, remnants from a time when the vault had more people, before the plague and quarantine. It actually came from within the quarantine zone, but only just so. Besides, the quarantine had been placed a full century before. Anything that was contagious was long dead. Hopefully.

The closer I got the more the sound resolved itself. I could make out that the higher, climbing and falling pieces were made by an ancient instrument called a violin. The more somber, base of the sound was a piano. The sound lifted and flowed. It drifted through the stale air, eased past the drooping fans. It was haunting, different. There was still no explanation of it; no cause or reason for the melodious intrusion. The sound seemed to go straight for my heart, as it wrapped around my soul with tender fingers and pulled me forwards. The sound pulled me around the bend in the corridor, skirting piles of dust and broken things on the ground. It emanated from a closed door, the music sealed inside and straining to get out. As if in a dream, I hit the release. The music bounded out, leaving me awestruck.

The room, if one could call it that, as it was enormous, was fully fleshed out like one of the old old world ballrooms. The floors gleamed with a fresh coat of lacquer; the walls were a tasteful cream with spiraled curtains hung over faux windows. It was nowhere near as bright as the rest of the vault, the muted lights seeming to enhance, rather than inhibit the sound. I stepped in a few more feet, savoring the expanse of simple elegance. The door slid closed behind me, but I paid it no mind. The music was building and climbing and soaring and doing completely irresponsible things to my head. It promised better, easier days, if only I took it by the hand. If I let it wrap me in its embrace then everything would be okay. There wouldn't be any worries, no GOAT to study for, no Butch to watch out for. The expectations of father and Jonas, the struggles in the lab, they all would fall away: unimportant.

There was only the soft music that filled the room without trying. It wasn't loud or obnoxious, it just was. It drew attention without being flashy or demanding, it just had it. The attraction was inescapable, the draw ensnaring. The music made me want it, without it trying. I leaned forwards and closed my eyes, drawing up to sense where it was coming from. A slight frown came over my face; I couldn't tell where the speakers were. I opened my eyes and nearly fell on my butt. Up, on the roof, was something more amazing than the rest of the room combined.

On the ceiling, were stars. Constellations. Andromeda and Orion, Scorpius and Draco, Cassiopeia and Medusa. I couldn't explain it, couldn't understand it, but it was. It explained the soft light, since it would be a simulation of dancing under the stars. There was no moon, no great ball of light blotting out the other stars' beauty. There was only an inky blackness, interposed with pricks of light. They swirled slowly on the ceiling, gently turning. The wonder, the beauty of it all hit me at that moment, and I did indeed fall to my knees. It was amazing, coming from a drab, fluorescent lit vault deep underground, and then seeing something that no man or woman had seen in over a hundred years.

The war had kicked up enough dust to blot out the sun and moon for weeks, there were still enough particles in the sky that observing any celestial being was a call for celebration. Factor in the music, sounds that were thought to be lost, destroyed in the fires. These few things in the room were more than even the luckiest travelers would witness in all of their lives. I had to take a moment and savor it; appreciate it.

Then, the absurd happened. A pair of hands grabbed mine. They were dainty and soft, but I recognized the scar on the back of them. Amata pulled me to my feet and gestured to the room.

"Isn't it amazing? I found it running from those Tunnel Snakes. I think that we're all who know about it." She whispers to me, tugging on my arm, "C'mon, there's more back here." She leads me to a door I hadn't noticed before. Through the door is a room covered in mirrors, other than the two doors, one of which we entered through.

"This room is amazing, but it's even better once I know about the other one." Amata confesses, opening the other door. Through there, it's like the looking glass, and I'm Alice. Inside are racks and racks of clothes. Dresses, costumes, shoes, makeup, holovids on the performances and many, many manuals teaching how to dance. "It's got everything. I started in that corner over there, trying things on and checking what there is." She tells me. In the corner is a small pile of supplies, a spare jumpsuit, water, a few snacks, a blanket and pillow. I'm amazed.

"Wow, Amata, this is amazing. It's almost magical." I say, running a hand down the frills of one gown.

"I think I mean Radical." She replies with a straight face. After a few seconds, neither of us can hold the laughter in, and it spills out.

"Amata, that was awful. Terrible pun." I choke out. She's hugging her pillow, trying not to roll on the floor from the giggles.

"Maybe, but it was funny." She replies, getting a handle on her laughs.

"So do you come here often?" I ask, scooting closer.

"Whenever it begins to get to be too much for me down there, yeah. When dad starts ranting about the work, when Butch and his cult won't leave me alone. Any time that I feel stressed really. I come here, I turn on the music, and it all just fades away. Let's keep this to just us, okay? I know that Brotch would drool for the constellations, but I'd like this to be our thing, at least until we graduate."

"Yeah, sure thing. I don't want to think of Butch or Paul getting up here." I promise.

Amata shivers at my mental image. "Ugh, they would totally wreck the place. But, it's getting late. We should head back down." She stands, and helps me to my feet again.

"Yeah. Meet me back here tomorrow?" I ask.

"Certainly." She replies.

…

The light fades out, and other sounds start returning. An incessant beeping, a scrape of a chair on tile, the clink of tools on metal. I open my eyes. I'm in the med bay, recovering from the attack. Butch really did a number on me. Thankfully, most of it was surface wounds. His knife was straight, which meant that the skin healed straight. The stitches would help keep it in place, help accelerate the process. I had been here three days already. The overseer had told me that I had been selected Vault Security Engineer. I had to look it up.

 **Vault Security Engineer**

 **Duties:**

 **Oversee function of vault automated defenses, security measures.**

 **Liaise with Security forces in case of emergencies**

 **Check functionality of necessary vault infrastructure**

 **Test escape route integrity**

 **Oversee development of new technologies**

 **Check loyalty of engineering personnel**

 **Accesses:**

 **Tools and other workuse items**

 **Armory**

 **Any necessary infrastructure, including schematics and other classified information**

 **Information access (unrestricted)**

 **G.E.C.K. (if applicable)**

It was a hefty load he placed on me, a heavy burden for someone so young. However, it gave legitimacy to my experiments. It gave me access to pretty much anything. Yes, I had to oversee loyalty examinations, as well as provide reports of monthly progress on my duties, but that wouldn't be so bad. Using this power, I could stockpile water supplies and cut power to the pumps. Then, we could retrieve Stanley's body. If anything was left of it. I could fix the problems in this vault. I could change the way things worked. He gave me the power to do whatever I wanted, as a reward for saving his daughter from her fate. I promised myself, once I understood my job, that I would not abuse this power. I would not become like Butch. I would be better than that.

The second day, I started giving orders. I requested an information dump of most of the systems onto my pipboy's local access. That led to upgrading my pipboy to handle the increased load. The research in turn lead to writing up a protocol to reduce reactor usage, since the population it had to support had shrunk 300% since implementation of the vault. Then I worked on the water protocols and the air flow sensors. To combat the radroaches, I ingeniously siphoned water down an air duct in an abandoned section. Then, I increased airflow, in reverse, to the area. They would be drawn to the water supplies, where they would stay. Then, with the air going in reverse, they wouldn't be able to breed, or fly. Eventually, they would all perish. It was a simple use of system resources, once one had the clearance. It was shame that no one had held this position for half a century. The problems and potential solutions had piled up until now. The pip-boy started to overheat, so I requested tools to work on it.

Third day, I rebuilt that stupid wrist computer. It was such a clunky thing. The old society produced laser and plasma weapons. They built robots and power armor. How they never succeeded in neural routing, I would never know. Hell, they successfully implemented virtual reality, **with** complete neural overlay. They had it solved! Evidentially, they ran out of time. Thankfully, I had the time. Reengineering the pipboy to run as a battery/storage device wasn't as difficult as it seemed. Once the displays were removed, the left over room was plenty to expand the data banks and power supplies. If you had access to a microfusion cell, it was piece of cake to simply co-opt parts from a broken gun and install them in the device. Once it was all connected, I had to establish a neural uplink and feedback loop.

It sounds harder than it is. Well, if you have the parts and the know-how. Using neural conductive film, you have to run it through the pipboy connection ports and into your own soft points. Then, you have to code a biofeedback loop and display, which would allow you to 'see' the information on the device. Thankfully, there was a lot of data waiting to be assimilated. In the final hours of the war, a mass data burst was sent out to select vaults. Those vaults housed specific, key personnel who were deemed important enough. Vault 101 was one of them. A Joanne Strausser was one of those people, and thus received the burst. By co-opting display code form power armor helmet designs, I was able to build a functional neural pipboy. It was a great day for science. Or, would have been had anyone but me been allowed to know.

Finally, on the fourth day, I was discharged from the med bay. I had yet to see anyone but my new subordinates. Amata must have been busy with her new thing. I wonder what she was. Stylist? Teacher? Overseer? She was creative and charismatic, firm and disciplined. It was a toss-up. Speak of the devil, and she messages you.

 _I heard you were discharged, come to our place. We need to talk._

She is succinct in her message, but I can't mistake the urgency. I access the schematics and plot the fastest route. _'May I say; I love my new position? It certainly has perks,_ ' I thought as I ducked through a maintenance shaft. Arriving at G1, I found the door closed. There was no music this time, not yet. Amata and I had discovered how the music worked, as well as the lights. Miss Strausser had it built to be multipurpose. She was indulgent in her devotion to the arts, but also knew the power of practicality. Thus, a stage that doubled as a lot of things. Really, we thanked her dead spirit time and time again. She did so much for us in 101.

I walked into the ballroom expecting to see Amata waiting. She wasn't there. Continuing to the mirrored room, she wasn't there either. There was however, a note on the other door.

 _We have much to talk about. Suit up._

Inside, I saw what she meant. There on the front rack, was a piece of art. It was a cool, deep shape of royal blue. It didn't flash in the light, but flowed, drawing the light in and consuming it. It wasn't long, but neither was it slutty. It certainly was risqué for a vault, especially with self-entitled ass's like Butch, may he rot. I looked away, looked back. It was here for a reason. _If it humors Amata…_

The thing fit beautifully. It was soft and silky, smooth and flowy. It drew attention to the right parts, minimized the eye at others. It hugged the curves and popped the edges. Truly magnificent, it dipped in the back and zigged up the side. My opinion of it changed. It was risqué, for any society event. No doubt, it was meant as a dare to whoever wore it, a challenge to be that woman at the party. Thankfully, I was able to pull it off. I discharged from my boots, stepping instead into a pair of light flats. It was different, it felt different. I looked at the mirrors by the makeup, deciding that for such a dress, I needed to do better than average. I wound my hair up in a series of Swiss knots, looping and tying and pulling. The result was fantastic. I brushed a hint of the powder on my face and took the final step. If this is what she meant… I dropped the pipboy. The clunky thing was better than it had started as, but it still was an awkward counter weight. Without it, I felt free. I covered the patch of skin with a bracelet or two and proceeded out to the ballroom.

Amata was stunning. She had on a different number in pink. It looked like a rival style; that cut down in the front, but had a series of ruffles that restored its dignity. She had also cleaned up for this. Hair was done in a convoluted pattern of ties and twists, the end result that it flowed out like silk. She held out an arm, silently asking me to free her of her own burdensome pipboy. I helped her out of the device, freeing her too from the confines of the vault. Somehow, by dropping the pipboy- a piece of equipment received on ones tenth birthday and never taken off after that- we were escaping the vault. She activated the music, a quiet piece of soft violins and pianos, not dissimilar to the one that drew me here eons ago. She held out a dainty hand, which I took. She stepped close, settling her other hand on my shoulder. We danced.

Step out, flow left, break right, step back, dip, lift, twirl, Amata was a wild dancer. We both loved the expression, the gift of your soul to the music. We had no set pattern to follow, but flowed with the music, letting it guide us out and around. Up and down the floor, sometimes slow, other times racing to top each other. It was a crashing, bumbling mess of two girls in close proximity. Somewhat reluctantly, Amata stepped closer.

As far as personal space goes, at that moment I had none. If she had her feet to the sides more, she would be standing on them. She was pressed against me, head right under my own. Her eyes blinked up at mine, slowly staring into my own.

"I never thanked you for saving me." She started.

"It was implied. Saving you got me my job. I doubt I would have gotten as much on my own. I should be thanking you, since because of you I can live my dream." I whispered back.

"You don't quite understand the magnitude of what you did for me. He was going to… He was there." She whispers back. I can feel her fingertips on my inner thigh, underneath the dress' hem. It is a shorter dress, but Amata is reaching fairly far up.

"That close?" I ask, squirming a bit from her fingers.

"Yes." She breathes. They inch upwards. I swallow nervously.

"Well, no greater thanks are required." I say, stepping away. The vixen follows; her fingers still on my thigh. A heat blossoms inside me. It's not one I appreciate at the moment.

"Why are you running? Isn't this what you want?" she breathes, leaning up to my ear.

"Amata, I-" Her lips are on mine, her tongue pressing against my own sealed lips. I gently return her kiss, but won't let her tongue in. She eases back and pouts.

"Why are you playing hard to get? You won your prize, this is what you want. This is what I want? What else matters?" She demands, pressing forward again. I hold her shoulders, keeping her away.

"Amata…" I say, searching for the words.

"What? What is it? Is it the 'population malfunction' ? Is there someone else? Is it my father? Yours? Are you shagging Jonas? What's going on Trace?" She's getting angry, demanding answers. As it continues, she gets more and more hysterical, more ridiculous.

"Amata, no. Just, just sit." I pull her down, and we're both sitting on the floor. She seems to deflate a little. "Amata, I saved you because it was the right thing to do, and more so you're my friend. I will always help you if I can, that's a promise. I'm not doing any of those crazy things you said, and definitely not lusting after Andy. His programming constraints are ancient. And besides, ew! He's a robot. And not even a good one. Look, I like you. You're my best friend, and I love you with all of my heart. I would gladly take a bullet or knife for you. However, I don't think this is the answer."

"You don't like me, don't you? You don't see me that way…" She sags, eye's watering, looking so lonely and so sad; I have to give her a hug.

"Amata, I don't know. I'm not an early bird like you. These things are happening slower for me, Plus, I'm eight months younger than you. We're only fifteen. It's… Things are just starting for me, for both of us." I say softly, pulling her close. She's full out crying now, makeup running down her cheeks. I'm trying to be gentle, but there's only so many ways to say it. Veritas Dolores. Truth hurts.

"So that's a no? You- you're- no?" she pleads.

"No. I'm not ready for anything like this, nor do I even know if… like this." I finish weakly. Amata is, if possible, crying harder. I hold her close, humming something in her ear as she cries over her first rejection. We weren't ready, it was too soon. She hurts, love hurts. I feel that loss, the emptiness too. My eyes bead up, but I blink the tears back. She's holding on tightly, which pulls at the stitches on my side, but I press it aside. I can deal with some pain, for her. As I hum, her cries grow weaker, her sobs softer. It takes a while, but she eventually falls asleep. I untangle myself from her and pick her up.

I take her to the closet room, where everything is. She is still sleeping when I lay her on her nest, formed years ago. She curls against my pillow, breathing in my smell from it. It's cute. Sadly, I can't stay. It'll be harder if I stay. I strip out of the dress, hanging it back on the rack. I wash the makeup off my face, pull my clothes back on. I reattach my pipboy. I go to leave, but remember that hers is in the ball room. Knowing her, she'll miss it and not find it. I retrieve it, set it by her sleeping form. Before I leave, I set one message in the screen, making sure it's the top view.

"Veritas Dicis Liberi. _The truth will set you free._ "

I pause at the door to the room for a moment. I turn back, look at her peacefully sleeping. It has to be done.

Despite my assurances and words, Amata was relentless. She would try and recreate the scene in the ballroom, try to woo me to her side. It grew obsessive, and started to worry me. Perhaps it would be for the best if I left for a little while. I started planning. Three months passed, and my plans came to fruition. I let her guide me through one last dance, let her waste all her strength trying to convince me to be hers. When she finally grew too tired, I laid her in the closet again.

"I wish we had more time. Goodbye, my dear friend. Goodbye." I say sadly, starting the trek to the reactor lab. My first expedition starts now. The goal is to explore the water supply that gives us our power and our water. Something caused the brownouts, years ago. I intend to find out what. One way, or another.

At my lab, I readied my pack.

"Rations, check. Batteries, check. Modified surgical respirator, check. Modified radiation suit, check. Tools, check. Prototype laser weapon, check. Backup sealed 44 magnum, check. Ammunition, check. Emergency knife, check. Survival supplies, check. Med kit, check. All systems are green." I announce, readying my pack. "Jonas, how's the emergency water supply?"

"Holding steady at four months' worth." He replies crisply.

"Andy, are your systems green?"

"Minor fluctuation in right repulsor, due to weight imbalance- unavoidable. I am ready to go, ma'am." The robot replies.

"James, dad?" I ask, my voice breaking.

"The protocols and timers are set. You have the best gear we could create. I'm proud of you for doing this. All signs are good." He says.

"Mr. Overseer?" I say, addressing him finally.

"Best of luck on your mission. I trust you settled your affairs?" I know he means Amata.

"Yes, sir. Everything is done."

"Good. Solve this mystery, once and for all." He says, hitting the release. I step back from the viewport as water floods in. I pray that everything works as it laps at my knees.

At my waist, I wonder if I remembered everything for my 'development'. I banish the thought, of course I did.

At my chest, I take a deep breath to calm my nerves. Everything will be fine.

At my neck, I see Amata running through the lab.

The water covers all of me before she reaches the viewport. I nod at Andy, who flicks on his lights. The pipe is open, the water flowing in it. I step out into the darkness. It's almost flat. The current is negligible, given the magnetically sealed boots. Andy's light doesn't push too far into the darkness, only a few feet or so. We walk and float down the pipe. Somewhere down here, lie the answers to my questions. More importantly, down here, there might be life. Life that isn't changed by nuclear fire. Down here, there might be the legend.

The Homo Aquarius. Water people. More likely, the Sunken Vault.

And Stanley's body. Can't forget that.


	3. By (Not So) Gentle Waters

The pipe goes on for miles. At some point, I advised Andy to save his power by turning the lights off. We would detect a pressure change or current change before any major changes to the flow. At seven hours in the dark of the pipes, my miniscule claustrophobia was becoming major. I couldn't feel the dark or the wet pressing in, but I knew they were, and that was enough. Andy had wandered a little further than me, and his flashing light alerted me to something wrong. A few more steps and I felt the current tugging. He was beyond a bend at that time, and I had no choice but to keep moving forwards. The current very quickly magnified as I cleared the bend, to the point where it yanked my boots off the bottom of the pipe. My body flew into a spin, bouncing all around the pipe. My head smashed into something, and I knew no more.

Air. I could feel the difference in pressure on my suit. My eyes didn't want to open, but I forced them as much as I could. I was on my back, looking up. One of Andy's arms was partially in my view. His feeble lights tried to illuminate the cavern, but they didn't go far. I could make out a downward falling stream of water from above, which I assumed I came from.

"Andy, report." I coughed, sitting up painfully.

"Miss, we are in a subsurface cavern, likely near the upper reaches of the aquifer. I tried to warn you of the drop, but was unable to properly convey the issue. You emerged from the ceiling 7.4 seconds after my collision with the surface here. There is roughly four centimeters of water along the cavern floor. Based on acoustical soundings, it is likely that there are multiple drops points from pipes like the one we emerged from. I regret to inform you that your suit took damage during your collision and subsequent fall; your helmet is no longer pressure sealed and you're bleeding from your head." I reached up and twisted the helmet off to look at it further. Indeed, there was a subtle crack near the upper edge. I reached up and brushed at my hair that had dropped over my right eye. My glove came back with crimson flecks. "Your orders, Miss?"

"Priority is finding dry ground, or a way to stay above water for rest. Second is finding how this place drains. With such an inflow of water, it must drain out somewhere. Stay within audio range." I ordered, climbing to my feet. Andy floated off in one direction taking his light with him. I activated my own light and started searching. Every four and a quarter minutes Andy would rev his saw to make sure we were within contact. At an hour seventeen, his saw cut on for longer than the required rev. I ran for him, fearing something in the dark.

He was still floating, but grey streaks were all over his body, dripping into the water.

"I have confirmed that there is life down here." He announced, focusing his optic on the thing on the ground. It looked like a prewar frog and bat had a child, but without eyes. It was aquatic, but webbed wing-like appendages stuck out of its sides. Two hopping legs, front wings. Andy had cleaved it in two through the middle. I bent down and prodded its mouth open. Two nubs of teeth, but mainly a long tongue. It appeared to be harmless to us. Blind, so sensing by some other method. This could be a juvenile, and the adults were much more deadly, but I doubted it. This area probably couldn't sustain a large predator population, so with all hope, this was the apex for the area and we were safe. If this was just a juvie, then we may be entering a death trap. Still, something had to have moved Stanley's body.

"Alright. Which was did it come from?" I asked. Andy motioned to the front and we proceeded that way. We saw two more, but they fled from us. Eventually, the ground sloped upwards and the we left the water behind. The sides narrowed to a single small corridor leading into the rock. The ground was still damp, probably from condensation. Droppings from the creatures started appearing, and the trail narrowed even further. Soon, Andy wasn't able to continue.

"I didn't see any branching paths, so return to the main cavern. Keep exploring for another way forward. I don't think this will go on much further."

He turned back with a cautionary, "Be careful, Miss," and I kept going. The remnants of the creatures grew more pronounced as I got closer, and the tunnel narrowed. It had already gone from being meters across to mere feet. At the current rate, it would be shoulder width very quickly. Around the next turn, it shrunk rapidly, the tall crack dwarfing into a crawlspace. I bent to my knees and pressed on. It kept growing smaller, and I found my suit scraping against the sides. My small spaces fear shot up again, and I debated turning back. I bargained my emotions for a few more minutes, and pressed on.

The tunnel suddenly opened up, forming a low cave. The floor was covered in excrement of the creatures. As my light swept over the ceiling, I noticed that a number of the things appeared to be attached to the ceiling. They shuffled under the light, but it didn't seem to disturb them. I had to remind myself that the one we encountered had no eyes, so light wouldn't bother them. I swept my light around and stood as best I could. What looked to be egg cases were secreted on the wall, squirming under the dismal heat of my light. Thermal sensitivity! I brushed a few of the frogbat things away and put my hand on the stone. It was warmer. Or was I imagining it? I couldn't feel a noticeable difference between it and the other wall. Possible thermal sensitivity. I took a few notes and then turned back. The passage back was much more friendly than it had been the other way. Instead of growing increasingly cramped, instead it grew larger and more comfortable. I was in the final stages of the tunnel when a low rumble echoed from the main cavern. Soon a veritable horde of the creatures scurried down the tunnel hopping and gliding past. The flood vanished in a matter of moments.

"Andy?" I called out when I cleared the tunnel. I unlocked the compartment with my modified laser weapon and took it in hand. "Andy, speak to me."

"Miss… I seem to have discovered what took Stanley's body. You were correct in assuming a low predator population." He calls back, though I still can't see him.

"Andy, I need to know more."

"Two creatures observed. Most likely a mated pair. Spiny legs, carapace armor. About a meter tall, on all legs. Pincers or claws, caustic venom. Not cowed by fire or noise." He reports, growing louder.

"Andy, please tell me they aren't chasing you." I reply, watching a faint light grow.

"…I wasn't programmed to lie." He finally says as he floats into view, a rent in his armor and three legs hanging limply.

I swear to myself and ready my weapon, hands shaking. The first one gets close enough for me to see it, and I shoot. My beam laces out, narrowly missing the edge of its thorax. It chitters. Andy whirls around, spraying it with fire.

"Die vile cretin!" He screams, overboosting to dodge a swipe of its claw. I take aim again and fire, sending a lance of energy through its other claw near the thorax, disabling the appendage. Andy saws through the rest of the things carapace, and its claw falls to the ground. It lets out a screech, and something smashes into my back, sending me flying forward. _Right, two of them._ I've got one more shot before I need to change the cell in the pistol. I take aim at the wounded one's head and pull the trigger. The beam cuts through the eyes and into the head of the creature. It hits the ground. The one that attacked me surges forward to stab me, but I scramble away before it can. Andy rushes it as I reload, and fights valiantly before being flung away by a backhanded claw. I open fire, lancing a lucky three legs off one side, making it scuttle with only one set of legs. My next shot bounces off of its carapace, a truly amazing thing. To withstand concentrated thermal and photon bombardment like that…

It's too close, and I try to back up, only to feel my leg burn. I must have stepped into the other one's claw. I trip over the appendage and scream as my arm splashes in the acidic venom/secretion. My last shot goes wild, and it rears above me. I quickly rip the magnum from my back pouch and shoot. The recoil sends my arm flailing about and I throw the gun somewhere. The thing pauses above me, dark eyes glinting and mandibles waving back and forth. It chitters weakly and falls to the side. The legs curl up and it ceases to live. I stagger to Andy, who is dented and leaking fluids.

"We lived." I gasp, digging out patches for his torn lines and bandages for my arm.

"Miss, it might be best for you to leave me here. I'm afraid those things knocked my jets out of alignment. Next time I fire up, I may explode." Andy says.

"That's a risk I'll take." I reply, wrapping the fuel line with a temporary seal. "We're in this together." He gives me a look, but uses one of his working arms to pull the gauze up.

"You need to wash the acid off, before it does more damage." He advises. Rubbing the enflamed skin is torture, but his advice is good; If I don't clean the wound, then it may grow worse. Thankfully, the cave mud has already taken care of my leg. I clean out the burns and scrapes as best I can, patching them up. I don't have the tools to repair Andy, but I can rewire two of his arms to work. The flamer is still offline due to the fuel line leak, but he should be okay to travel.

"I'm going to go to a safe distance, then you ignite your thrusters." I say, walking backwards. His main rocket sputters, kicks, sputters and catches. He rises a few inches. The two other thrusters show no signs of kicking in, but I can't bear to see him dragging the ground. I move closer.

"Miss, any closer and you're in danger. I don't think your patch is going to hold for long." He cautions. I ignore him and reach for the secondary boosters. One is bent from the landing, while the other just refuses to ignite. I open the case, ignoring the warning to never do so when the unit is active, and peer inside. There's mud caked on the sparker. I clean it off with my fingers and look for other issues. There's a sliver of metal pinning the fuel line closed. I grab the piece and wriggle it free. As soon as it slides loose, the jet roars to life, heat singing all the hair off my hand, nearly charring my fingers. I yelp in surprise, and he uses a claw to drag himself away, gravity closing the panel.

"Are you hurt Miss?" He asks, concernedly.

"I'm okay. Just a little burned." I reply, hiding my hand. There's a line of heat blisters across the back of it. "Let's get a look at these creatures."

When they're not moving, or trying to kill you, they're nowhere near as terrifying. We examine the curled up one first. It has four legs on one side, two large pincers. The mouth is much smaller, and consists of flexible mandible pairs that pull food inside. They have no tail. The exoskeleton is covered in something, making it shiny and very durable. The pincers have a venom sack inside of them that secretes through pores on the inside of the claws. It burns at the touch, causing minor chemical burns. More acidic than toxic, the venom quickly disperses in the water. I test the exoskeleton for suitability, but without the right tools, nothing can be done with it. No armor or weapons, no repairs for Andy. Darn. The second yields more. While my laser cauterizes wounds, due to the heat, Andy's Buzzsaw does not. A quick and foolish test reveals that the blood is not acidic. (Andy was very displeased by me sticking my fingers in it without thinking.) When we flipped this one over, it yielded an egg sac on the bottom. Thankfully, they were nowhere near hatching time. Most of them had been ruptured during the conflict, but a few were intact.

"They should be scavenged by those other creatures we saw." Andy offered when he saw my face pale.

"If not, well, we killed two of them already." I replied, regaining my feet. "You said you found Stanley's body?"

"Not quite, but, in all likelihood, I was on the right track. This way." Andy starts floating/crawling in a direction, two jets keeping him aloft, and two arms assisting. He leads us around the cavern, following the curve of the wall until it slopes downward once more. "It goes down some, then back up to an island of dry land. It's most likely their nest."

I lead the way, as he is uncertain if the water is too deep for his rockets and arms to reach. I get to the middle and provide an anchor point for him so that he can cross. On the other side of the moat is indeed a patch of dry land, with small bones and other scrapings left. Discarded carapaces, splotches of dried venom, and a ragged corpse, almost entirely bones and ripped cloth. Thankfully the majority of it has decayed past recognition, and has gone past the smell-bad stage.

"Is it?" I ask.

"Stanley." Andy replies, carefully examining the remains.

"What should we do?"

"Vault procedures say cremation or flushing." Andy said dispassionately.

"We don't have spare fuel, but he already got washed down…" I trail off. Andy takes charge, opening one of the panels on his auxiliary booster and loosening a valve. He carefully dumps the scarce fuel on the skeleton.

"Andy! You need that to stay aloft!" I protest.

"Miss, it's my choice what I do with my supplies. I think he deserves the respect of a proper burial."

"As long as you think this through, it's your choice. Just, we're both down here. If you go, it's just me." I say softly, turning to inspect the area more. I feel more than hear Andy light the pyre. There's a flash of light, illuminating that the cavern is spacious, but flows out a little south of our position. The heat manages to push away some of the residual chill I have from crawling on the cave floor. A chorus of croaking starts up, and fades quietly away as the pyre burns out. I turn back, all that's left is an outline, a black mark where his bones laid.

"It is done." Andy says.

"We could push on. The exit of this cave is just a little way away." I say through a yawn. Andy rests an arm on my shoulder lightly.

"We've been moving and fighting for quite a while now- it's been a long day for you. I'll take first watch. Try to rest some."

I nod and pull out my toolkit and repair materials. I manage to patch the crack in the helmet, and sew up the acid burn in the arm of the suit. I'm partway through the leg of the suit when sleep takes me away.

….

She sits, curled around her suit. She's resting, still for a moment in time. Having watched her since the beginning, it's a joy that she's alive. Though his databanks have been filled and purged and filled again, ghosts of the past still linger. He remembers faintly, a young girl sitting next to an old man and a young one, the old one and her fiddling with his diagnostics, the young one watching proudly. He remembers the young man, first breaking into the vault, threatening the overseer, fighting for his little daughter. She was sick then, he remembers. Her little body was trembling and shaky- pale and weak. He can see the desperation on the man's face through hazy, patchy code. He remembers wanting, for the first time, to do more than just what he was programmed for. He remembers, just for the time between logic gates flipping, desiring his own little one to hold and shelter and protect. His imager sends the image of her huddled in this dark and frightening place, wrapped carefully around the only clothing she has, and it overlaps with the faint ghost of James, in every moment Andy knew him. Most importantly, for the length of a 1/0 switch, Andy has both the feeling and desire to give his life for the girl he sees in front of him. Then, the gate trips, the 1 registers, the recollections, feelings, desires, transcendence- they all fade away. Andy swivels his optics, and scans another sector for trouble.

…..

"James." The overseer is curt, stern.

"I'm leaving. I told you my terms when this began." He says angrily.

"I remember a man with an infant, breaking into my vault and threatening me with a laser pistol, demanding that he be allowed to live here and raise his daughter. I remember a man, so wrapped up in grief and love and loss, a man I pitied and allowed into my sanctuary. I recall no such demands or terms. You're here because I pitied you, not because of some deal."

"I don't care. My daughter has grown into a fine woman- she is a loyal dweller, and will serve your sanctuary well. She brings keeps hope alive in this place. I serve no purpose here. She will return, just tell her I died. She'll grieve, but she will live and move on. Let me go so that I may finish my life's work." James argues. "Look, we don't like each other. I believe in choice, you believe in destination. I say that we choose who we become, you say who we become is determined by how we best serve. As long as I'm in this vault, people will hear my doctrine. It is inevitable. Let me out, and you will have your perfect paradise back. This is for the best, for both of us."

"…Fine."


End file.
